


give me some time (but i think we're supposed to be)

by pledispristin



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Childhood Friends, Coming of Age, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Road Trips, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-22 04:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17052818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pledispristin/pseuds/pledispristin
Summary: He’s going crazy, he decides. Maybe he’s just compensating for the fact that he doesn’t know where the future is going to take them. Maybe his heart has just started missing Minhyun before his brain did.





	give me some time (but i think we're supposed to be)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nuest95s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuest95s/gifts).



> written for my best friend in the world
> 
> varsha, i'm sorry if this is rushed in parts or if parts of it are just frankly terrible, i started and restarted this about eight times and wrote all of this in like three days but happy birthday!! i hope you enjoy this <3 <3 i love you
> 
> playlist for this fic can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/shahdiae/playlist/3NcXJtsNlEoVySgK52hiEw?si=doyxFk_vT82Tth-qiGrsbA), and the title is from _groceries_ by mallrat.
> 
> tw for light homophobia between "As it turns out, there are." and "leaving Seongwoo feeling distinctly like he’s missing something incredibly obvious." as well as references to it (though nobody in the scene actually is homophobic) between "Seongwoo’s stomach lurches." and "“I don’t know,” he says finally.", so if that triggers u be careful~

For an event meant to commemorate success, graduation is the fucking _worst_.

Seongwoo aches to tell Minhyun this, to whisper it snidely into his ear if only to see the glare Minhyun would give him, the corners of his lips twitching despite himself. But Minhyun is sitting a little bit behind him—damn alphabetical order—and he can already hear the hissed _pay attention_ if he turned around to catch Minhyun’s eye.

But it’s over before it’s allowed to drag on for too long—that’s the only comfort. Before long, their names are called to accept their diplomas— _Ong Seongwoo, Hwang Minhyun_ , the names sounding strange when not said together—and they’re listening to the national anthem played from the shitty auditorium speakers. And then it’s over just like that; twelve years of high school tossed behind them in the space of an afternoon.

Minhyun catches up with him after the ceremony—which means he appears out of nowhere and gives him a friendly slap on the back. “Ong,” he says, mock-serious, but he’s grinning so hard that he can’t even keep up the facade. The sun gets a little bit dimmer. 

“Hwang,” says Seongwoo. 

“Congratulations,” says Minhyun. He throws an arm around Seongwoo’s shoulders. 

“Why are you congratulating me for something we both did?” Seongwoo asks, which means _thank you, you too_. He pushes Minhyun’s arm off his shoulders. Minhyun rolls his eyes, which means _don’t be a dick_. “Are you sad?”

“I don’t know,” Minhyun says. “Kind of? It’s like—well, stuff only gets harder from here, but also I’m not sorry to put this place behind me. But also—” He sighs. “I don’t know. I think I’ll miss it. Maybe I’ll just miss the company.”

“What can I say?” says Seongwoo. “I’m pretty irresistible.”

Minhyun snorts. “I’ll say. I’ll try not to fall in love with you,” he says. And before Seongwoo can respond, Minhyun is nodding goodbyes to random people in their year, laughing and promising to stay in touch with people Seongwoo barely knows in passing, and the conversation is dropped.

 

When Seongwoo first met Minhyun, they were eight years old.

It was January, and Minhyun was a brand new student who’d just moved up to Seoul from Busan, and immediately everybody in Seongwoo’s class had wanted to be friends with him. Not with _Seongwoo_ , never with Seongwoo, but with this new kid with bright eyes and perfect posture and a funny accent when he spoke. 

So on the day that Minhyun had come to school for the first time, when Seongwoo’s mother had asked him in a voice ready to break if anything interesting had happened, Seongwoo had told her it was just a day like any other day. 

Except the next day, when Sanggyun asked Minhyun if he wanted to play football and Seongwoo prepared to yell indignantly with all the strength of his eight-year-old lungs about how _you always told me the teams were full_ , Minhyun had turned to Seongwoo and asked “Why isn’t he playing?”

Seongwoo doesn’t remember what Sanggyun’s reaction had been, or really what _anyone’s_ reaction had been. He’d been more focused on the fact that somebody had actually acknowledged him, that somebody had stood up for him despite not even knowing who he was. And then Minhyun had shrugged and said, “Well, I don’t like football,” and sat himself down beside Seongwoo to watch. 

Seongwoo had glared at him, but not said anything. Minhyun hadn’t said anything, either. But even when Huihyeon had asked a little too loud why the new boy was sitting with _the guy without a dad_ , he hadn’t moved from that spot on the asphalt. 

Sometimes Seongwoo feels like he’s still that kid on the asphalt, hugging his knees up to his chest, already trying to perfect his death glare. But in his mind, Minhyun always seems to be there next to him. Seongwoo and Minhyun versus the world. 

That’s how they’ve always been. But Seongwoo doesn’t know if that’s how they always will be. 

 

Their first stop is Incheon.

They’d been planning this road trip for ages—since last summer, actually, when they’d sat around talking about colleges and entrance exams and made plans for how to make the most of their last year. 

When they’d planned it, though, Seongwoo hadn’t been prepared for the winds of change in the air, for the tangible reminder that things were changing. _One last great summer_ —isn’t that what this is? One last ride before everything changed?

Seongwoo doesn’t want to think about it. He turns his head to stare out of the window instead.

They’re driving in Minhyun’s father’s old car, which, as it turns out, is on its last life. Seongwoo can’t help but feel like it’s on the verge of collapse every time the engine puffs out another creak. “Are you sure this is safe?” he asks Minhyun after one almighty puff, shaking the metal of the car.

Minhyun jumps with a start. “I thought you’d fallen asleep,” he says. He’s the only one of the two who has a driver’s license—Seongwoo had failed his test and never bothered to do it again. Of course, Minhyun had cried _driver’s privilege_ as soon as he got into the car and immediately put on a Nell CD, and Seongwoo thinks if he hears one more rock ballad he’s going to cry. 

(He’s not complaining, though. It’s worth it for those brief moments when Minhyun seems to forget he’s not alone, when he starts to softly sing along.)

“I’m not asleep,” says Seongwoo. “Though your music is boring enough to put me to sleep, if that’s your aim.” Minhyun pulls a face at him—Seongwoo catches sight of it in the rear view mirror. “How close do you think we are?”

Minhyun shrugs. “I think we’re in the city limits now,” he says, vaguely beckoning to his phone, which is balanced precariously on the base of the stick shift. 

Seongwoo rolls his eyes. “Couldn’t have gotten a car with one of those navigation things installed, could you?” he asks. Minhyun shakes his head fondly, and Seongwoo gets the impression he would’ve tried to swat at Seongwoo if he hadn’t been fully focused on driving this death trap down the expressway. “Are you sure this isn’t going to break down?”

“Relax,” says Minhyun. “This is the car I learned to drive in.”

“It’s a piece of shit,” says Seongwoo.

“Her name is Bertha,” says Minhyun. “She’s practically my grandmother.”

Seongwoo scoffs. On the car speakers, the song changes to another of Minhyun’s songs, one of the ones Seongwoo would never listen to if he had a choice; but right now, in this shitty car with Minhyun humming along, it sounds like the best song he’s ever heard.

He rests his head against the window of the passenger side and watches the cars go by, wonders how many of the drivers are living through a change, wonders just how many of the other drivers on the expressway felt like they were feeling everything and nothing all at once, felt like they didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad or just wistful. He wonders how many of the drivers feels like they have a choice to make—he wonders how many of the drivers feel like they’re torn between two things without knowing what exactly they’re torn between.

 

The woman behind the desk at the motel gives them a strange look when they walk in. Seongwoo doesn’t realize why until Minhyun opens the door of their room and bursts out laughing.

“Seongwoo, this is a love motel,” he says, dropping his backpack in surprise. 

Seongwoo blinks. “You mean, like—”

“Oh my God. Yes. That’s what I mean,” says Minhyun. “It makes sense, though.” He runs a hand through his hair and laughs again, immensely amused, as if this realization isn’t driving Seongwoo insane. “The neon sign, the way it’s kind of tucked away, the kind of shady atmosphere….” 

Seongwoo sits down on the side of the bed. The bed—there was only one bed. There was only one _fucking_ bed. “This is one of those places where people come to fuck?” he blurts.

Minhyun bursts out laughing again. “Yes, Seongwoo,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “God, no wonder the woman at the desk was looking at us like we were insane.”

“We could’ve been brothers,” Seongwoo says, crossing his arms, trying to stop the flush rising up his neck. The idea of someone mistaking him for Minhyun’s boyfriend, the idea of someone assuming he and Minhyun were lovers—it’s ridiculous. It’s crazy and ridiculous and would never happen in a hundred years and—

“Nah, we don’t look alike,” Minhyun says. “And we’re both good looking. Good genes tend to only go to one brother.”

“Yeah, so Jinyoung is going to grow up great,” says Seongwoo, his voice coming out surprisingly level for someone trying desperately to suppress his blushing cheeks.

Minhyun snorts. (His brother Jinyoung is twelve and probably the funniest twelve-year-old Seongwoo has ever met.) “He won’t have my big head,” he says in agreement.

Seongwoo has to stop his mouth from saying something ridiculous about how Minhyun is still handsome even with a big head. The lights in the room are surprisingly dim, slightly orange tinged. Seongwoo doesn’t think it’s a good environment for sex, but—the colour suits Minhyun. And sure, he’s always known his best friend was good-looking (the countless girls who’d come up to Seongwoo to ask for his number was proof of it), but he’s always known this as an objective fact, something that couldn’t be argued with. The earth is round, grass is green, and Hwang Minhyun is handsome.

But the option of them ever dating—that had never even crossed Seongwoo’s mind. It _shouldn’t_ cross Seongwoo’s mind. They’re best friends, and Seongwoo has only ever liked girls, and so has Minhyun. 

He’s going crazy, he decides. Maybe he’s just compensating for the fact that he doesn’t know where the future is going to take them. Maybe his heart has just started missing Minhyun before his brain did. 

“There’s only one bed,” he blurts. “Are we going to _share_?” The thought of sharing with Minhyun—it makes his blood rush to his face, though he’s not sure why. 

Minhyun squints at him. “It’s pretty big,” he says. “Are you awkward with it? We can just get another room if there’s any available, but—”

“It’s fine,” says Seongwoo, because it should be. It will be. Minhyun is his best friend, and no number of random ladies behind the desks of shady motels or faded yellow lights can change that.

“If you’re sure,” says Minhyun dubiously.

Seongwoo wakes up the next morning with Minhyun’s head practically buried in his shoulder. This should be the point where he shakes Minhyun awake and tells him to _stop being so fucking clingy you loser_ , and then spend the rest of the day making fun of him over it.

But he doesn’t. And when Minhyun wakes up, Seongwoo pretends to still be asleep. 

(His heart is missing him before his brain can, he tells himself.)

 

Their next stop, after Minhyun has dragged Seongwoo to the site of the Goryeogung Palace and Seongwoo has dragged Minhyun to the beach, and Seongwoo’s phone camera roll has been filled with photos of Minhyun that he won’t post anywhere because he wants to save these memories for himself, is Boryeong. 

Neither of them had ever been before, so Seongwoo opens up a page on his phone and searches through it so he doesn’t have to deal with Minhyun and his music and the way he insists on singing along. (Minhyun has a nice voice, he thinks idly. He’d never been the type to sing in public, but he’d always had a nice voice.) “Did you know there’s a coal museum in Boryeong?”

“Fascinating,” says Minhyun, his voice dull. Seongwoo swats at him, and Minhyun laughs. “I’m driving!”

“Fuck your driving,” says Seongwoo. Minhyun laughs again and turns up his music on the shitty car speaker, and Seongwoo groans. “Do you have anything else, Minhyun?”

“Do _you_ carry CDs with you?” asks Minhyun. Seongwoo glares at him, then pulls open the glove compartment to sort through the mess of CDs that are there. “Half of those aren’t even mine,” he adds. “So unless you want to listen to my dad’s music…”

“You and your dad have the _exact same taste_ ,” grumbles Seongwoo. 

Minhyun laughs. He’s been doing a lot of that lately, Seongwoo thinks, wondering idly if Minhyun’s laugh has always been so nice or if this was just a new development in Seongwoo preemptively missing his best friend. “So you’re going to have to listen to this stuff from here till Boryeong.”

“Are there CD shops in Boryeong?” asks Seongwoo. 

As it turns out, there are. Their time in Boryeong is spent going to CD shops and discussing what they should listen to from Boryeong to Mokpo, and going back to a motel room with two beds because they’d learned their lesson since last time. They don’t go to the coal museum; they don’t do anything they _wouldn’t_ have done in Seoul. But for the first time since the road trip began (or, hell, for a long time now), Seongwoo feels normal—like he’s Ong Seongwoo and Minhyun is his best friend and they’re just _normal_.

The cashier behind the desk at one of the shops, a guy in his thirties whose name tag reads _Hello, I am Siwon_ and who looks miserable as hell, looks between the girl group CDs and the way Minhyun’s arm is slung around Seongwoo’s shoulder with a bored calculation. His eyebrows disappear so far into his head that they hide in his extremely high hairline, and his mouth curls as if he’s going to say something insulting instead of what actually comes out, which is the price. 

Seongwoo’s shoulders tense and he tries to throw Minhyun’s arm off his shoulder. Minhyun’s jaw tightens and he doesn’t move his arm, instead finding his wallet and counting out the change one-handed.

“What was that about?” asks Seongwoo when they’ve left the shop and Minhyun has dropped his arm from Seongwoo’s shoulders.

Minhyun looks at Seongwoo like it should be self-explanatory, but Seongwoo can’t help but feel like he’s without a critical part of the puzzle. “People shouldn’t look at us like that,” he says finally, leaving Seongwoo feeling distinctly like he’s missing something incredibly obvious. 

Things are fine, he decides the next morning when he gets into the passenger seat of Minhyun’s car and queues up Twice’s _Likey_ , listening idly as Minhyun drums his hand on the steering wheel and sings along. He doesn’t have anything to worry about. He and Minhyun are _fine_.

 

The thing is that people have _always_ questioned what Minhyun is to Seongwoo. 

Seongwoo’s grandma had sat him down one day when he was fifteen after Minhyun had crashed in his room one night and told him in no uncertain terms that _I have no problem whatsoever if you’re a homosexual, because no matter what you are my grandson_. Seongwoo had stared at her, gaping, for a full thirty seconds before his mouth decided to finally work and tell her that he had no idea what she was talking about.

Minhyun had dated a girl called Eunbi who dumped him in their second year of high school because she said he paid more attention to Seongwoo than he did to her. Seongwoo had dated a girl called Sohee who _hadn’t_ broken up with him because of his best friend but who _had_ spread rumours after they broke up that he’d dumped her because he was gay for Minhyun. A freshman girl had come up to Seongwoo at one point to ask for advice about being gay.

It’s hard, now, for Seongwoo to think of himself without thinking of Minhyun. They’re practically a two-headed creature—if Seongwoo was more sentimental, he’d say something about them being one soul and one brain and one heart in two bodies. Minhyun had spent the first half of the last year spending a lot of time with a guy called Youngmin, and Seongwoo had spent the first half of the last year stabbing his pencil into desks and fuming about the prospect of Minhyun getting a best friend who _wasn’t_ Seongwoo, and who _was_ en route to a SKY university while Seongwoo went to some shitty college down the road. Seongwoo isn’t sure who he’ll be next year when he’s sure Minhyun won’t already be around. 

The woman behind the desk, the cashier—they’re not the first people to assume Minhyun and Seongwoo are dating, and they won’t be the last. But that’s never bothered Seongwoo before. It’s not like it’s their business, he’d always reasoned to himself, what Minhyun and Seongwoo were to each other. They’re best friends. Minhyun is probably the most important person in Seongwoo’s life. There’s never been any need for Seongwoo to think about it. 

And this is their road trip; it’s _their_ last big adventure before they both head off to college, before the possibility that not seeing each other every day will draw them apart can have a chance to sink in. So Seongwoo isn’t going to ruin it by thinking about the future, and by analyzing the way his heart sputters occasionally looking at Minhyun. There’s no need to complicate things, because he and Minhyun have always been _simple_.

But when Minhyun asks Seongwoo something, he pretends to be asleep. He keeps his eyes shut and his head turned, and doesn’t respond even when he can hear the frown in Minhyun’s voice.

 

In the car from Mokpo to Tongyeong, Seongwoo actually does falls asleep.

It’s not his fault. He’s not the type to sleep in cars, but the day before Minhyun had insisted that they reach the summit of Yudal Mountain, and they’d hit the road again at seven in the morning because apparently Hwang Minhyun had no concept of human energy. So he falls asleep—head pressed against the glass of the window, sleep overtaking his eyes as he counts the cars on the highway.

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is that Minhyun has put his boring rock ballads on again. It’s a Nell song: _Separation Anxiety_ , he thinks vaguely. His eyes flutter open and he’s about to say _what the fuck, why did you change the music_ when he sees the way Minhyun’s eyes are firmly fixed on the road and goes silent.

The song finishes. Minhyun lets the first few notes of _Moonlight Punch Romance_ play before he shakes his head and plays the first song again. Seongwoo doesn’t think he’s noticed that he’s awake yet—he’s too busy staring at the road, his knuckles so tight on the steering wheel that they’ve gone white. He’s mouthing along the words like he knows them by heart, but he’s not singing.

Then he sighs and moves his hand to rub at his eyes, and Seongwoo realizes with a shock that Minhyun is crying. He’s never seen Minhyun cry before. They’d been friends for ten years and he’s never seen Minhyun cry.

Minhyun’s eyes catch on Seongwoo, who hurriedly shuts his eyes but not fast enough. “Seongwoo?” he asks. His tone is a bizarre mix of mock annoyance and sadness—his voice quivers a little bit on the _woo_. “How long have you been awake?”

“I just woke up,” says Seongwoo. He opens his eyes to catch the tail end of one of Minhyun’s fond smiles. “You didn’t wake me, though.” And then he hesitates, because Minhyun was crying and his eyes are still a little red and there’s tear tracks on his cheek, but Seongwoo has _never_ seen him cry before and he has no idea if he should even acknowledge it. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” says Minhyun. “I’m fine.” 

Seongwoo hesitates. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” says Minhyun. He turns to smile at Seongwoo, but his left hand is still unusually tight against the wheel. “Don’t worry about it.”

Seongwoo hesitates. Minhyun takes his right hand off the gear shift to squeeze Seongwoo’s left hand, and Seongwoo’s heart stammers. He pulls it away and doesn’t look Minhyun in the eye in case he felt his heart skip a beat it in his pulse, because he’s afraid of the silent question in his eyes that he just can’t answer. 

 

Being in Busan is strange, because as soon as they enter the city limits Minhyun looks at least seven years younger, and Seongwoo gets the distinct feeling that this is Minhyun’s territory.

The fact that Minhyun hadn’t grown up in Seoul, that he’d spent two to four weeks every summer in Busan visiting his grandparents, that he’d gone to a different kindergarten and that he’d had a different first grade teacher; it’s something Seongwoo tries not to think about. Back when they’d been kids, people had teased Minhyun for his accent, and for his habit of slipping into satoori—the fact that Minhyun _isn’t_ from Seoul is easy to forget, and Seongwoo tries to forget it, because sometimes it can’t help but seem like Minhyun is something _else_. Something that Seongwoo can never relate to. 

But Minhyun is brighter once they get into the city limits, and he knows where he’s going without even glancing at his phone, so Seongwoo asks, “Where are we going?”

“My mom told me she’d kill me if I didn’t see Grandma while I’m down in Busan,” Minhyun says, smiling shyly. “I’m sorry, this is probably going to be really boring for you—”

“I don’t mind,” says Seongwoo honestly. “You’ve met my grandma.”

Minhyun laughs. “Damn straight.” Minhyun and Seongwoo’s grandmother got along like a house on fire. Idly, Seongwoo wonders if _that’s_ why she’d assumed they were dating. Minhyun would make a good grandson-in-law. 

The car pulls to a stop eventually in front of an apartment building. Minhyun grins and pulls the car to a stop, and he looks as if he’s a totally different person—Minhyun-the-devoted-grandson instead of Minhyun-the-best-friend.

The elevator stops at the second floor, and Minhyun knocks on the first door on the right. Eventually, it opens—and an old lady who looks no taller than five foot opens the door. “Minhyun!” she says, clearly surprised. “How lovely.”

“Hi, Grandma,” says Minhyun. “I’m road tripping through the city, so I thought I should stop and see you.” Seongwoo clears his throat—Minhyun looks up and mock glares at him . “This is Seongwoo. He’s—” He trails off. Minhyun’s grandma tilts her head one side as if she’s trying to figure out where she’s seen Seongwoo before. “He’s my best friend.”

“Well, come in,” says Minhyun’s grandma. “How long are you staying?”

Minhyun hesitates, and looks between Seongwoo and his grandma quickly. “Um. A couple hours?”

“Well, where are you going to sleep?”

Minhyun hesitates. Seongwoo bites his lip, stifling a smile. “A—a motel?”

“Hyunie,” says Minhyun’s grandma. Seongwoo masks a laugh as a cough, and mouths _Hyunie_ to himself. “Why would you stay at a motel for money when you can stay here for free?”

Minhyun gapes at her. “Um. I didn’t want to be any trouble?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Minhyun’s grandma, and just like that the matter is settled. Seongwoo feels both impressed and distinctly like he can understand Minhyun a little bit better now. She turns to Seongwoo, and her voice turns honeyed. “Seongwoo, dear, can I get you anything?”

 

That night, Minhyun drives them out to the beach at dusk.

They stay there for a while, lying on the hood of the car, silent albeit for the sound of the tide. Seongwoo is vaguely aware of the sounds of people on the beach, but they fade to nothingness in comparison to Minhyun’s arm resting dangerously close to Seongwoo’s. A treacherous part of his brain tells him to take his hand in his. He doesn’t.

Finally, Minhyun speaks. “I’m going to miss you.” It’s raw, earnest, painfully honest. 

“Why?” asks Seongwoo. He laughs and hopes Minhyun doesn’t notice how thin it sounds. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’re best friends.” But he’s convincing himself more than he’s convincing Minhyun, so he sighs and says, “We’ll both be in Seoul, anyway, right? Or are you thinking of coming back here for university?”

Minhyun sighs. “No,” he says, but there’s something behind it that Seongwoo doesn’t recognize. “No, you’re right.” 

The silence is so thick it could be cut with a knife. Seongwoo swallows. “The stars are really bright out here.”

He can hear the smile in Minhyun’s voice. “Yeah. Remember your astronomy phase?”

Seongwoo winces. He’d been eleven, and he’d taken it on himself to learn every star visible from Seoul, a task which proved impossible with the naked eye and the air pollution. But he’d tried his best with all the earnestness of his eleven-year-old brain, and Minhyun had nodded intently and tried his best to follow along, and they’d once tried their best to see as many stars as they could from Seongwoo’s balcony. 

“Of course,” he says, remembering the excitement of their eleven-year-old selves when they were able to identify a constellation. “Back in the days when we were innocent and sweet and had no worries.” Minhyun snorts. “I barely even remember what anything is. That one is Ursa Minor, I think.”

“The North Star is in that one, right?” asks Minhyun.

“I think so,” says Seongwoo. “And I’m pretty sure that one really bright one is Sirius, so that’d be….um.”

“Canis Major,” says Minhyun. 

“Gesundheit,” says Seongwoo. Minhyun snorts. “There, now I’ve given you a random fact. Now it’s your turn.” They’d done this a lot when they were kids—Minhyun was bookish and Seongwoo equally so, so neither of them had really had anyone else to talk to about whatever crossed through their heads. Even now—he sometimes got messages from Minhyun at midnight on the day before a final or some important event, and they’d trade messages for twenty minutes before Seongwoo finally feels like he can sleep.

Minhyun is quiet for a while, then he speaks. “The most concise word in the world is from the native language of a South American tribe,” he says finally. “It means….something along the lines of the look between two people when they’re sharing an unspoken, intimate moment. When both of them desire something, but neither of them want to be the first ones to initiate it in case they’re wrong.”

Seongwoo stares at Minhyun, lying there in the moonlight, and thinks idly that Minhyun looks beautiful in this light. He clears his throat. “I see.” And then, “Have—have you ever been in that situation?”

Minhyun laughs softly and looks away. “I wouldn’t know,” he says. “I’ve no idea what was going through the other person’s head.” 

Seongwoo’s heart pulls to a stop and his mouth stops working. He wants to ask for more information, he wants to know when and where and _who_ , but the words die halfway in his throat as if he’s afraid of the answer. So he stands up and says, “We should probably go back. It’s getting late.”

In the moonlight, Seongwoo sees Minhyun’s face tighten just for a second—and then it’s gone, and he wonders if he imagined it, if it was just a trick of the light. “You have a point,” he says, standing up and taking his keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go.” 

And it’s only when they’re pulling to a stop in front of the apartment building that Seongwoo thinks back to that _no, you’re right_. He has the distinct feeling his best friend had just lied to him for the first time in ten years.

 

When they leave Busan, Minhyun’s grandma stops Seongwoo at the door after Minhyun has gone to put their stuff back in the car, armed with several tupperwares worth of home-cooked food. 

“I know you think Minhyun is strong,” she says. “And he is. He has my blood running through my veins.” Seongwoo stares blankly at her. “But he’s also a sensitive kid. So be gentle with him.”

“I’m sorry,” says Seongwoo. “But I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Minhyun’s grandma clicks her tongue. “You wouldn’t, would you?” She smiles wryly. Seongwoo smiles back, though he isn’t sure why. “He cares about you a lot. I think you need to know that.”

“I don’t understand,” says Seongwoo. He feels colossally stupid. 

“You will,” says Minhyun’s grandma. “When you get to my age, you start to notice things.” She pats Seongwoo on the shoulder, and he feels oddly comforted by it. “It was nice meeting you, Seongwoo.”

When he gets downstairs, Minhyun is already behind the steering wheel. He beeps obnoxiously, the windows turned down. “What took you so long?”

Seongwoo almost tells Minhyun about what his grandma had said, but something stops him halfway through. It feels like a conversation that Minhyun wasn’t supposed to hear. “Oh, nothing. Your grandma just wanted to say goodbye to me.”

Minhyun smiles. “She liked you, I think.” And then, before Seongwoo can ask him to elaborate, “Oh, fuck. We’re low on gas.”

So they stop at a gas station, and Minhyun asks Seongwoo if he wants anything once the tank is full and they’ve stopped in front of the store. Seongwoo considers, and then follows him in to get some coffee. 

And then they’re in front of the cashier and having a conversation about the merits of black coffee versus coffee with milk, and the cashier looks up from counting change and says, “Minhyun?”

Minhyun turns away from Seongwoo and grins. “Daniel!”

“It’s so good to see you,” says Daniel-the-cashier. 

“You too,” says Minhyun. “What—do you work here?”

“Yeah,” says Daniel. “But only for the summer, though. I haven’t seen your family at all?”

“Oh, you won’t have,” says Minhyun. “I’m here on my own.”

Seongwoo feels distinctly out of his element. He nudges Minhyun, a little too hard. “I’m Seongwoo,” he says. “I’m Minhyun’s best friend.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow. “ _This_ is Seongwoo?” he asks Minhyun, who flushes pink and doesn’t answer. He turns to Seongwoo. “Nice to finally meet you. Minhyun’s said a lot about you.”

Before Seongwoo can even start to grapple with that statement, Minhyun had laughed a little too hard and said, “Well, it was nice seeing you, but we’ve got to go, so.”

“Oh, I’ll see you, then,” says Daniel. “And nice meeting you, Seongwoo.”

Seongwoo is silent until they hit the road to Daegu. They’re not on a highway yet—they’re driving through rural Korea, and Seongwoo doesn’t think he’s ever seen this many farms in his entire life. “Who was that?”

“That’s Daniel,” says Minhyun. “His mom is friends with my mom, so I’ve known him for—years, really.”

“Oh,” says Seongwoo eloquently. “I thought you didn’t have any friends when you lived in Busan?”

Minhyun snorts. “Way to put it nicely,” he says. “But yeah, I didn’t. Daniel doesn’t count, he’s a family friend and that’s totally different.” He laughs. “I had a bit of a crush on him, but that’s beside the point.”

Seongwoo’s stomach lurches. He feels almost as if the car had just suddenly, abruptly pulled to a stop. “You had a what?”

“A crush, Seongwoo,” says Minhyun. “That’s what it’s called when you like somebody and you want to go out with them?”

“I know what a crush is,” says Seongwoo. “But—you had a crush? On him?”

“Yeah, when I was about fourteen,” says Minhyun. “He’s a year younger, but—yeah.”

“No, I mean,” says Seongwoo. His brain to mouth filter has stopped working. His brain has degraded into _Minhyun had a crush on a guy_ repeated over and over again like a broken record. And he knows there’s a right way to say it, he knows that he shouldn’t say it abruptly, but his mouth acts before his brain and he blurts out, “You like men?”

Minhyun inhales sharply. “You already knew this,” he says. 

“I absolutely did not,” says Seongwoo. _Minhyun likes men._ And then, the traitor in his head says _Minhyun likes men who aren’t me._ “You like men?”

“Yeah,” says Minhyun sharply. “Yeah. I’m gay. I thought you knew?”

“But,” says Seongwoo. _Minhyun is gay. Minhyun is_ gay. Minhyun _is gay._ “But you’ve liked girls—and Eunbi—and you never told me—and how was I supposed to know!”

“Youngmin,” says Minhyun simply. 

Seongwoo stares at him. “Young—Youngmin? Im Youngmin? You two were together?”

Minhyun actually slams on the brakes this time. He pulls the car over silently, moves the gear shift, and turns to Seongwoo. “Yeah, we were,” he says. “And I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you because I thought you knew, and because I was worried you’d react something like this.”

“Something like what?” asks Seongwoo. 

“Like _this_!” Minhyun says, gesturing vaguely. “Like you can’t even _look_ at me!”

Seongwoo’s heart stops. “You think I’m—you think I’m homophobic or something?”

“Well, yeah,” says Minhyun. “It’s pretty obvious.”

“ _Why would you think that?_ ” asks Seongwoo shrilly. “What would even suggest that?”

“Maybe the fact that you’ve been this shocked?” suggests Minhyun coldly. “Or maybe the fact that you’ve gotten all tense and weird everytime I touch you for the last year?”

“That’s not because I’m homophobic,” says Seongwoo. 

“Oh, sure,” says Minhyun. “Then what?”

Seongwoo knows the answer. He knows it. It’s on the top of his tongue. But he can’t put it into syllables, he can’t phrase it—like a scent he vaguely recognizes or a name he’s long forgotten. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “But I don’t care that you’re gay. Really. I didn’t even know until now—but it doesn’t even matter to me. I just—I’m just upset you lied.”

“I never lied,” says Minhyun. “I just didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

Seongwoo stares at him for a few seconds, and Minhyun stares back, and then Seongwoo can’t do anything but burst into laughter. Minhyun stares at him, and then he laughs too, and everything feels like it’s okay again when Minhyun finally pulls back the gear shift and starts driving again. 

“I’m sorry,” says Minhyun.

Seongwoo smiles. “So how did you figure it out?”

Minhyun sighs. “Remember when Eunbi broke up with me because I didn’t pay enough attention to her?” (Seongwoo remembers Eunbi breaking up with Minhyun because he paid too much attention to Seongwoo, but he doesn’t bring that up. He gets the sense that bringing that up will lead to a conclusion that Seongwoo doesn’t want to approach with a ten foot pole.) “That made me think. And then—” He flushes at this. “Well, I did some reading, and stuff, and I realized I don’t really like girls that much—I mean, like, they’re fine, they’re great, I’m just not like—interested in dating them. So yeah.”

“And Youngmin?”

“We were lab partners this year, remember?” Minhyun asks. Seongwoo remembers—it had been one of the primary reasons for his intense jealousy, the fact that they’d shared the same classes that Seongwoo hadn’t been smart enough for. “And he came up to me and he said Minhyun, I kind of have a thing for you and I understand if you want to switch partners knowing this but I didn’t want it to be awkward, and I said, wow, cool, you’re pretty cute, want to go hang out?”

“Jesus,” says Seongwoo. “And that was—”

“We never properly dated,” says Minhyun quickly. “If he was my _boyfriend_ I would have told you properly. We just kind of—” He pauses, and Seongwoo knows that if he wasn’t driving he’d be gesticulating wildly. “Made out a few times. I broke it off.”

“Why?”

Minhyun shrugs. “I realized he liked me more than I liked him,” he says. “I was like—” He trails off, and for a second Seongwoo thinks he’s forgotten what he’s going to say when he says, “I liked someone else. And I didn’t want to be shitty, so.”

“Oh,” says Seongwoo. 

Minhyun hesitates. “Are you sure you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah,” says Seongwoo. “Yeah, you’re—yeah. You’re my best friend. Always will be.” Minhyun sighs. “I thought you knew,” he says finally. “And that’s why you didn’t want to be around me in the same way that we always have. Because you knew.” Seongwoo swallows. “That’s not it,” he says, but doesn’t— _can’t_ elaborate. He hovers, reluctant, before he thinks _fuck it_ and rests his left hand on Minhyun’s right. And he can feel Minhyun’s smile before he sees it.

 

“There’s something else I haven’t told you,” says Minhyun when they’re almost in Daegu. 

“Go on,” says Seongwoo, wondering idly if he has any life-altering secrets to offer in return, and then again wondering where Minhyun had time to collect all of these. His hand is still on Minhyun’s, tracking the movement of it.

Minhyun exhales. “Remember when we were talking about college and I said it would be nice to go to America and you said I should apply? So I did, but I told you I didn’t think I’d get in?”

“Yeah,” says Seongwoo, remembering how much Minhyun had wanted to drop the subject when Seongwoo had brought it up. “Which is bullshit, by the way, because you’re really smart and you have a bunch of stuff and—” 

Minhyun laughs softly. “Well,” he says. “I got into UCLA.” 

“Oh my God,” says Seongwoo, processing, remembering how nervous Minhyun had been and how many times he’d texted Seongwoo over that month with messages like _I’m not sure if I want to do it_. His heart seizes. “In California? That’s—that’s incredible!” He pauses. “Why—why didn’t you tell me until now?”

Minhyun shrugs. “I’m not sure if I want to go,” he says finally, eyes fixed on the road. “My parents want me to, but I’m not sure.”

“Why wouldn’t you—” asks Seongwoo. “But—but you worked hard! Is—is it the English?”

“My English is fine,” says Minhyun. “I did the tests and everything.”

“Then why—”

“Because if I’m in California,” says Minhyun slowly. “That means I’m not in Seoul. Where you are.”

It takes Seongwoo a couple of seconds to process this. “Get the fuck out,” he says finally, which is definitely not what he wanted to say and which definitely makes Minhyun look up at him like a startled deer. “Minhyun—”

“And my parents, too,” says Minhyun quickly. “And Jinyoung. And all the people I know and all the places I know and—”

“Minhyun,” says Seongwoo. “You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t—” And then he trails off, because a treacherous part of his brain tells him to tell Minhyun to stay in Seoul, to stay with _Seongwoo_. A treacherous part of his brain tells him to lean across the gear shift and—

“I shouldn’t go?”

“No,” says Seongwoo. “No, you should go. Not—not because I don’t want to be around you—because this is a really great thing. And you should go.”

Minhyun swallows. Seongwoo’s eyes follow the movement in his throat. “I’d miss you.”

Seongwoo hesitates. His throat suddenly feels very dry. “You should go,” he manages to say without his oesophagus closing up, and turns to look out of the window. “I’ll still be here when you get back. And we can, like, text. And Skype.”

“Seongwoo?” says Minhyun, with the air of someone with something to say, and Seongwoo prepares himself for another game-changing thing he doesn’t know. It never comes. 

Confused, he turns to look at Minhyun. “Yeah?”

Minhyun hesitates. “Nothing. Just—thank you.” And Seongwoo is left with the unnerving feeling that he intended to say something very, very different. 

 

The subject doesn’t get brought up again until they’re on the way back to Seoul. 

They get through Daegu and Pyeongchang, but Seongwoo isn’t sure why he can barely remember anything except that Minhyun’s hand had spent an awfully long time brushing against his own. He has pictures, though—there’s one of them, a selfie, in one of the parks in Daegu, that Seongwoo crops into his phone homescreen.

But they’re on the road from Pyeongchang to Seoul when Seongwoo says, “You _will_ stay in touch, though, won’t you?” Minhyun spares him a quizzical look, his attention split between the rural roads and Seongwoo. “When you go to university. Wherever it is.”

“Obviously,” says Minhyun. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Seongwoo shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. 

Minhyun shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly. “Sure, of course I will.”

“I’ll miss you,” says Seongwo.

“You won’t give me time to miss you,” says Minhyun. “You’ll just be texting me twenty-four seven.”

“What can I say?” asks Seongwoo. “I’m pretty irresistible.”

Minhyun smiles. “I’ll—” He hesitates, his voice catching on something Seongwoo can’t decipher. “I’ll try not to fall in love with you.”

A thousand things come together in Seongwoo’s mind, like that voice crack was the final piece he needed to complete a jigsaw puzzle. The way that Minhyun had figured out he was gay because someone told him he was obsessed with Seongwoo. The way that he’d told Seongwoo that he liked someone else. The way Minhyun’s grandmother had given him advice, not as her grandson’s best friend, but as someone who could break her grandson’s heart.

The way Seongwoo had shied away from Minhyun’s casual touches for the last year. The way his heart had stammered on and off when Minhyun smiled or brushed against him or teased him. The way his brain had focused not on the fact that Minhyun was gay, but on the fact that Minhyun was gay for someone that wasn’t him.

_The look between two people when they’re sharing an unspoken, intimate moment. When both of them desire something, but neither of them want to be the first ones to initiate it in case they’re wrong._

“Oh my god,” says Seongwoo aloud.

Minhyun looks up from the wheel. “What?”

“Pull over,” says Seongwoo. “Oh my god.”

Minhyun does, bringing the car to a stop on the side of the road. “Wha—”

He’s cut off by Seongwoo, who unbuckles his seatbelt and practically climbs over the gear shift to kiss Minhyun stupid. Minhyun makes a surprised noise from the back of his throat, and Seongwoo registers vaguely that this is literally the _worst_ place to do this, and Minhyun’s arm is pressed up against the window until it isn’t and instead is in Seongwoo’s hair, and—

Minhyun pulls apart, breathing heavily. “What was that for?” he asks. 

“You—like me, right?” asks Seongwoo. 

Minhyun swallows. “Yeah,” he says, eyes searching Seongwoo’s own. “I think I’ve been falling in love with you for the last ten years.”

“Oh my god,” says Seongwoo, surging forward to kiss Minhyun again. 

When he pulls apart, he says, “That’s really good. That works out really good for me. Because—because I like you. Too. Love you, maybe. I don’t know.”

Minhyun stares at Seongwoo for a second like he can’t quite believe it. A car drives past. “We should probably—hit the road again,” he says, deceptively in control, sounding more like he can’t decide what else to say. 

Seongwoo slides back into his seat and watches Minhyun rub at his neck. “Does it hurt?” he asks. 

“Weirdly enough, I didn’t feel it at all before,” says Minhyun. “When we were.”

”Kissing,” supplies Seongwoo. 

”Right, that.” He moves his hand to put the gear shift in drive, and then hesitates. “You’re not serious, right?”

“Why would I joke about this?” asks Seongwoo. 

“I thought you were straight.”

“So did I,” says Seongwoo. Minhyun shrugs at that like it makes perfect sense, and perhaps it does. “I don’t really know how long, but—well, I know I like you, at least, and maybe I love you, I mean I love you like my best friend but I don’t know if I love you like someone I want to date but at the end of the day—yeah. That’s a thing.”

Minhyun stares at Seongwoo for a couple of seconds, before he reaches out and slides his fingers into Seongwoo’s and somehow manages to move the gear shift back, and Seongwoo knows he doesn’t have to say anything else. Minhyun understands, unspoken. Just like they always have. 

 

Minhyun pulls to a stop in front of Seongwoo’s apartment building. 

“Your parents will be glad I delivered you back in one piece,” he says solemnly, dropping his touch on Seongwoo’s hand. 

He laughs hollowly, flexing his fingers to make up for the loss of the warmth. “Sure,” he says. “Because that was totally your doing.”

“If I wasn’t there, you’d have fallen off that mountain in Mokpo.”

“If you weren’t there, I wouldn’t have even considered climbing it.” Minhyun laughs, runs a hand through his hair, and Seongwoo doesn’t know how to part ways. Desperately, he searched for something to say, and finally settles on, “Just because you’re going to America doesn’t mean you get out of helping me prepare for the entrance exam,” which is a terrible thing to say but it makes the corners of Minhyun’s mouth turn up fondly so mission accomplished. 

“Sure,” he says. “We can meet tomorrow, if you like.” He hesitates. “Maybe in Tartoise?” And that’s so Minhyun, Seongwoo reflects—to go back to neutral ground, to the places they frequented before everything changed, even in acknowledgement that things would be different now. 

Not worse. Just different. 

Seongwoo nods. “It’s a date,” he says, and watches the way Minhyun flushes and ducks his head at the word _date_. “I—I guess I’ll be going then.”

“I guess you will,” says Minhyun. “Um—this was fun.”

“Yeah,” says Seongwoo. “It was.”

He sighs and gets out of the car and opens the trunk to get his stuff and then watches through the window as Minhyun turns on the engine to drive up the street.

And then he reverses, and stops again in front of the sidewalk, and gets out of the car and says, “Sorry, just before I go.”

The kiss is soft, and sweet, and Seongwoo thinks he might actually be in love with his best friend and he thinks he’s definitely alright with that. When Minhyun pulls away, his hand on Seongwoo’s jaw lingers for a few more second. Seongwoo squints when he looks at him, the day being as bright as it is. _There’s the sun,_ he thinks. _And there’s a ball of glowing gas in the sky._

“That’s—a good parting gift,” says his mouth stupidly. He feels like his heart is going to explode from out of his chest. 

Minhyun laughs. “I’ll see you, Seongwoo,” he says. 

And when Seongwoo turns around to go into the building and back up to his apartment and say hello to his mother—who could blame him if there’s a spring in his step? 

 

Seongwoo fixes his hair as the Skype call connects, which is kind of ridiculous if he thinks about it, which is why he doesn’t think about it. 

His screen flickers into life, the grainy image of Minhyun appearing in the box. “Seongwoo,” he says, halfway between a period and an exclamation point, like he doesn’t want to seem too cold but doesn’t want to seem too excited either. 

Seongwoo’s heart swells. He says the first thing that comes into his head, which ends up being, “You’re really grainy.”

“What a shame,” says Minhyun. “You can’t see my beautiful face.”

Seongwoo rolls his eyes. “Such a charmer,” he says. “It’s really late over there, isn’t it?”

Minhyun shrugs. “Not that late,” he says. “Eleven. I was going to be awake, anyway, though.” He holds something up, and Seongwoo squints at it before he realizes it’s a textbook. “Working on English. Or, like, I’m trying to.” 

“Doubt you’ll get much done with me around, though,” says Seongwoo.

“You’re right,” says Minhyun solemnly. “I should just close the call and focus, then.”

“Don’t,” says Seongwoo quickly. Minhyun snorts as if to say _as if_. “I miss you.”

“I’ve been gone for a week,” says Minhyun. “And you’ve been messaging me non-stop.”

“I still miss you,” says Seongwoo stubbornly.

Minhyun smiles. “I miss you too,” he says. 

“I was at yours today,” says Seongwoo. “I went to pick up those entrance exam things you told me about? But your mom basically interrogated me.” Minhyun laughs, flushing with embarrassment. “It was terrifying. Your grandma was there, too, but I doubt she was very surprised we’re together now.”

It falls off his tongue so easily—the same and yet so different all at once. Seongwoo had been worried, at first, that things would change to a point where they couldn’t be recognized, but he’d been proven wrong when things just continued on as if nothing had happened, except now they’re dating. Seongwoo and Minhyun versus the world—just like they’d always been. 

“What makes you say that?” asks Minhyun.

“Oh,” says Seongwoo. “When we were in Busan last summer, your grandma stopped me and gave me some advice that’s like, you know, _be gentle with our Hyunie, he’s a really sweet soul_ —practically gift-wrapping the fact that you were in love with me for me.” Minhyun snorts. “So I think she knew.”

“Oh, she definitely did,” says Minhyun. “On my side, at least.” Seongwoo frowns at him. “The summer before last, the summer after Eunbi dumped me and—yeah, I figured everything out while I was in Busan. And I guess my grandma saw it in my face, that I was worried or upset or whatever, so she asked me what’s the matter, and I basically went on a spiel about how I’m in love with my best friend but he’s a guy and also straight and my life is just so hard, and—well, I think she was very confused, but she did her best to give me advice.” He pauses, considering. “That I didn’t take, because it was like _confess your feelings_ and I was not going to do that, but—”

“You’re ridiculous,” says Seongwoo. “Did you tell anyone else?”

“Daniel,” admits Minhyun. “It was a moment of weakness.”

Seongwoo lets the facts rearrange themselves in his brain. “You’re _ridiculous,_ ” he says finally. 

“You’re still here, though, aren’t you?” says Minhyun. “So I can’t be that ridiculous.”

“Oh, you are,” says Seongwoo. “Like attracts like.” Minhyun bursts out laughing, and Seongwoo takes the sound and seals it and slides it into his bloodstream right next to his blossoming heart.

They’re okay, he thinks with a smile. They’re _more_ than okay. In fact, Seongwoo might say that they’re _perfect_.

”Stop smiling to yourself, you look like a creep.”

”Oh, _fuck off_.”

**Author's Note:**

> [the loose road trip plan i followed](https://theculturetrip.com/asia/south-korea/articles/the-coastal-route-a-road-trip-itinerary-for-south-korea/)  
> nell's [separation anxiety](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xwxMMz31NU), an excellent song which isnt on spotify but frankly should be
> 
> rather than just being another fic, this is probably also going to be my goodbye to writing for wanna one. i don't think i'll continue to write things for them after disbandment, so this is likely to be my last wanna one fic. i'd like to thank everyone who reads this and everyone who's read, left kudos on, and left comments on both this fic and all my other wanna one fics. youve all made me feel like this hobby is worthwhile and so i have to thank you
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!! 
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/wannatheworid) || [curiouscat](http://curiouscat.me/hyeashope)


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